


Dance Without Music

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: The Sandman
Genre: Other, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:25:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his dreams, he is an African Queen named Nada, not a boy speaking Cantonese in Hong Kong. He is stately and proud, feminine and powerful in his stance. This is how he truly feels comfortable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Without Music

In his dreams, he is an African Queen named Nada, not a boy speaking Cantonese in Hong Kong. He is stately and proud, feminine and powerful in his stance. This is how he truly feels comfortable, even if in the waking world he has narrow hips and skinny arms, a cock between his legs and too many angles in his face. He feels all wrong somehow when awake, though he knows he is a boy physically. He’s not sure if he really wants to be a girl, or if he is something in between without a proper name.

He’s all right with not having a proper name for what he is.

In his dreams, he is Nada. He walks with grace, knowing that this is right, this is who he truly is. He sees a castle in the distance, not his, but somehow it is familiar all the same. It is the logic of dreams, and he knows that this is where he belongs when he comes to the dreams. He is welcome here, always welcome, and this is his home as much as the tiny flat is in Hong Kong. This home feels more comfortable, as if he had been born here and the waking world is the one that is the dream.

He sees the girl dancing as she is sweeping, even though there isn’t a speck of dust about the white marble that he can see. He approaches, soft robes swishing delightfully around his soft thighs and rubbing against his breasts. He likes tying them loose just so he can feel this sensation. He thinks this girl is more like a wood sprite of some kind, looking like the art of Western fairies that he had seen. Would she care that here he is the African Queen Nada, and in the waking world he is a boy in Hong Kong that doesn’t quite fit inside his skin?

She looks up as he approaches, a boy inside a woman’s skin, and her smile is kind. “Hello, there,” she says, putting aside the broom. “Did you want to dance, maybe?”

She is hesitant, as if he would ever refuse her. He doesn’t know why he would. This isn’t the one that would be frightening, the one who would throw someone into pain and darkness out of spite. He knows her name with the clarity of dreams, and smiles at her. “Nuala. I’m Nada. I would love to dance with you.”

They dance without music, and he asks if she likes him in Nada’s skin. Nuala seems to understand how appearances aren’t everything, how emotions are tangled skeins that unravel even when you try so hard to keep it spooled. She blushes shyly at Nada, eyes falling to her lush breasts. “I like you, Nada. I’ve loved women and men before, but I like you as a woman best, I think.”

Their kiss is soft, the tentative press of curved lips and gentle tongues. Nuala’s hands are smooth and soft as they pull at the robes Nada is wearing. He likes the feel of her hands more than the woven fabric, and presses his breasts into her hands, abrades his nipples against her palms. He traces the lines of her back, feels her arch into his touch. Their dance is more sensual now, caresses and kisses, licks and the soft brush of hair against skin. Nada wants her with a fierceness he had never before experienced, and all but ruts against her thigh. The cock he doesn’t especially feel comfortable with isn’t there to get in his way, and the blossoming pleasure rolls up his pelvis. He kisses and sucks at Nuala’s skin, tasting her like nectar. He comes, a rush of wet and sticky between his thighs, and it is as natural as the breasts that Nuala leans down to suckle when he nearly falls to the floor.

She moves to kiss and caress his breasts, especially his nipples, fingers brushing through coarse curls and sticky wetness. Nada watches as Nuala licks his essence from her fingers, then kneels down to drink from the font directly. He writhes beneath her mouth, gasping out ancient words he isn’t even aware of knowing, coming against her tongue. He fingers her in return, tasting himself on her tongue when he kisses her and coaxes a climax out of her. “I want you,” he says against her mouth, meaning it. “When I wake, when I dream. I want you with me like this.”

Nuala blushes and smiles at him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He may not be entirely comfortable in his skin when he wakes, but he is certain she means exactly what she says.


End file.
